


Satin and Twine

by madefornight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, F/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madefornight/pseuds/madefornight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were faint, barely a whisper of words I couldn’t quite hear or understand. Their voices like rope reaching into the clouds around me. I wanted to grab hold, but I was fading. Then another voice joined them. His voice was a rope I took hold of. His voice... like something from a fairytale</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Breath

I was rising, spinning and floating through a haze. The Sun above me was bright and beautiful. Its warmth drew me closer and closer. Below me the Earth spun on. Its cold wind pushed me further and further away. In between I rested in a bleak gray fog. The mist was uncomfortable but I wouldn't be there long. The sun pulled and the wind pushed. But though the wind pushed me something made me stop, even in that desolate and unpleasant smog. Howling and shrieking in my ears the wind nearly deafened me to the voices rising from the Earth. They were faint, barely a whisper of words I couldn't quite hear or understand. There seemed to be quite a few of them whispering, (or where they yelling?) their voices like strands of rope reaching into the clouds around me. I wanted to grab hold, but the Sun was so warm, the Earth's wind was so cold, and I was floating near the edge of the fog. I was fading, slowing rising into the Sun's embrace even though I looked onto Earth.

And then another voice joined them. He was deep and smooth like silk washing over me as he whispered. I couldn't understand him but that didn't matter. His voice was a rope I so eagerly took hold of. The wind and the Sun tried to pull me back. The Sun got warmer and the wind howled louder but it was too late. I held the satin threads of his voice in my hands. I would go nowhere but to their source even as it took me back into the mist.

And so I did. I pulled and struggled my way back to the earth. With each haul the whispers became a little clearer. With each tug the more I understood the voices that begged me come back. Loudest of all was the voice in my hands. Though he was more demanding as his tone vibrated through me. His voice throbbed in my head and pulled me further down the rope. I could hear them now. I could hear their voices and understand their words as if they were next to me. Freya, Freya, Freya. They whispered over and over again. Freya. My name; they were calling my name, calling me back to Earth, back to them!

And then the voice in my hands vibrated again. His low sweet tone was echoing around me and covered me with warmth. He wasn't just next to me, he was wrapped around me. He was holding me; holding me with his lips pressed to my neck as he whispered against my skin, Dyre, Dyre, Dyre. My name, he was calling my name. Dyre, the name he wrote on my heart and carved into my bones. Dyre… the name he gave me burned on my skin and sent me racing down the rope.

I was halfway through the haze when I stopped. Before me was a wall. It looked like glass but moved like water when I touched its surface. It was all that stood between me and the whispering but when I pushed against it pain shot through me. It was an icy pain that spread over my body and sent me flying back away from the wall. I didn't want to go back there, I would feel only pain I didn't want that. But the voice in my hand vibrated again and sent a rush of warmth through me that brought me back to the wall. Dyre! He growled the name now, making my still blood pump again as I was pulled heart-first through the wall. Wake up!

I sat up in a bed gasping for breath and people raced to my sides. "Freya? Are you with us?" One asked taking hold of my head and shining a light in my eyes. I nodded weakly as I shivered and tried to curl up for warmth. "No, Freya, I need you to lay still. I know you're cold but don't curl up. Can you do that?"

I whimpered and nodded, closing my eyes to the blinding light. I must have passed out because the next thing I remember was the silence. No more voices, no more wind only the faint beep of a heart monitor. And I remember how hollow I felt because of it. It was like the quiet was gutting me, tearing apart my soul as I let out a small whimper.

"Dyre?" that voice, I faintly remembered it. Something about fog and a rope but the memories wouldn't solidify in my mind. But there was something about that voice, like something out of a fairytale.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. The room was bright and white and rather boring. So it was no wonder my eyes drifted around until they fell on the one interesting thing in the room. A man stood near the side of my bed. I could only describe him as dark. Dark curly hair, a dark coat hung near the door, and a dark suit fitted to his thin frame. His skin was pale, his eyes were cold and grey but there was more, I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

"Hello?" my throat was sore and scratchy as I spoke. I started to cough and soon found that I couldn't stop. My lungs hurt, my throat hurt, hell everything hurt!

"Just breathe, Dyre," he said moving to sit beside me on the bed before shouting out the open door, "John! Mary! She's awake!" he turned back to me, long piano fingers touching my skin gently as he turned my head to examine me. "Who did this to you, Dyre?"

"My- name-is Freya," I wheezed out between coughs and his fingers froze on my face.

John and Mary entered the room and John moved to my other side. "Hold your hands up above your head, Freya." He said helping to raise my left arm. My eyes stayed on the man next to me who looked like he'd been turned to stone. He was so still, his grey eyes watching mine. His mind was racing, anyone could see that. But it seemed like Mary and John didn't, they both watched me while I stole glances at the man to my right.

My couch subsided and the man stood up. He turned his head to the side and spoke again, "Who did this to you… Freya?" John and Mary's heads snapped around to look at him. He kept his eyes on me.

I frowned, "I don't know."

"Someone put you in a freezer; you must know something."

"Someone put me in a WHAT?" I panicked looking between the three of them. "What happened to me?!" They all paused, looking at me with varying expressions of fear and confusion but for the third man. He looked like he was concentrating very hard on putting together a puzzle. A million piece puzzle for him to complete. The silence wore on and I looked at them with horror. A freezer?! How could I have been put in a freezer?!

"Freya, what do you remember?" John asked taking my hand into his warm palm and momentarily distracting me from my horror. There were bandages on his face, like he'd gotten into a fight. I ran a finger over one of them, a question asked in the frown on my face. "Later, right now I need you to remember."

I dropped my hand and opened my mouth to answer him, "I-" I frowned looking down at my blankets as I tried to think. What did I remember? "Y-you were showing me around that old Baker Street flat. The one you're friend lived in before he died-"

"What?" Mary cut me off and I turned to look at her.

"What?" I asked looking around. John and Mary looked at me like I'd grown an extra head. The man only blinked before turning his eyes to the floor. John glanced from me to him and I frowned slightly in confusion.

"Freya-" John started, squeezing my hand. "That-" he stopped when the man turned and marched out the door. "Sherlo- Sherlock!" he shouted running after him and I watched them both go.

"Mary?" I whispered as she sat beside me. I was shaking, my whole body vibrating with fear and confusion. I tore my eyes away from the door and looked at her. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

"Freya, you should rest," she said reaching up with her free hand to smooth out my hair. "You've had a long couple days."

"No," I growled, "Tell me what happened."

She hesitated a moment more before giving me a weak smile. Her face fell, her eyes held fear as she opened her mouth to answer me. "You saw the marks on John's face, yeah?" I nodded. "Well you both were taken yesterday. You were put in a freezer filled with ice water and John was put at the bottom of a bonfire. I was sent a coded text telling me John would die sooner, but… you would be harder to find."

"Mary?" I whispered grabbing hold of her. "Mary, did I die?"

The silence told me everything


	2. The Key to What Was Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A few missing days is blessing compared to what could have happened.”

“You were in the water for close to an hour before you were found.” John said from the chair at my bedside. “When Mary came to get Sherlock you were in the living room so they thought you were safe. Shortly after they left Mrs. Hudson heard a crash and you screamed. You and the kidnappers were gone before she made it up the stairs.”

I nodded slowly, my eyes glued to my hands in my lap. I wanted to look up at him, the man standing in the threshold with his hands in his pockets. Why was he here? What purpose did he serve? He was John’s friend, not mine, and John was fine. But still he stood in the doorway, those cold grey eyes burning holes through my skull as he appraised me. His gaze was calculating, observing, his thoughts ran across his eyes but I couldn’t even begin to guess at what he was thinking. I got the sense not many could.

“The conditions you were found in…” Mary began; there was concern and reluctance in her voice. Her eyes darted to John who gave her a small smile and a guested for her to continue. “The condition in the freezer Hypothermia should have killed you in less than forty-five minutes. However, you regain consciousness while you were being wheeled to the ambulance so we think you lasted at least fifty-five minutes.”

I licked my lips and nodded again, my eyes flickering between them before flashing over to the man in the doorway, “And… my memories?”

John and Mary exchanged a look, both of them glancing at him as well before looking back at me. John leaned forward and clasped his hands together, “You… You died, Freya, for at least five minutes. That’s five minutes your brain went without oxygen.” He glanced at the man again, “A few missing days is blessing compared to what could have happened.”

The man turned and walked out the door. John looked at Mary, who nodded, before leaving as well. I watched them go and felt a frown flicker across my otherwise passive face. I was happy to watch them go, happy to have the pressure of his presence lifted, but I also felt like I was being gutted again. John and the man disappeared down the hall and Mary took John’s seat beside my bed. I looked at her and could see the quiet curiosity and sorrow in her eyes.

“A few missing days,” I quoted her fiancée, as my gaze dropped down to my hands again. I couldn’t look at those eyes, I couldn’t handle the pity. All my life I have never needed anyone’s pity and I found the thought unpleasant now. “How many days am I missing exactly?”

“Four.”

I swallowed, cocking my head to the side. My eyes stayed glued to my hands as I gripped the soft pink, almost beige, blanket that covered me, “And… what happened over these four days?”

She hesitated and my eyes snapped to her. I raised my head back up and she held her palms up in an attempt to calm me, “Before you get angry, I want to tell you everything.”

“Then tell me-”

She shook her head, “I can’t, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“You have to remember by yourself,” She said reaching for my hand, “That’s the point of all this.”

I frowned, “Point of what?”

She smiled softly, “It’s not important. If I tell you what happened these last couple days you won’t try to remember. That means all your thoughts, your emotions, and words will be lost. The Doctor said I could tell you a few things, things you absolutely had to know, but nothing else.”

My hands were balled into fists, “Such as?”

“Well,” she began with a small smile on her face; “you finally moved out of that dump you called a flat.”

“I did?” I raised an eyebrow, “Where do I live now?”

“Baker Street,” she said with a knowing smile, “You also have a flat mate-“

“I guessing silver eyes was him,” I said gesturing towards the door where he once stood.

She looked surprised, “How’d you know that? Are you starting to re-”

“It’s the only reason he would be here,” I smirked stopping her sentence short. “Well, the only reason that made sense.” She didn’t say anything. Her face, however, was worth a thousand words. She looked at me with sad eyes. Her lips curved just slightly into a frown. It wasn’t the look you gave a friend when they were clever. It was the look you gave them when they lost something and you weren’t sure what to do. It was pity, and it made my blood boil.

“So,” I shrugged, breaking the tension, “Who is he? I’d venture to say he was a friend of John’s but I didn’t think he had friends outside the two of us. He never talks about anyone much.”

“He has friends,” she laughed but there was a strain in her voice, something that peaked my interest. “It’s just… complicated”

“I’ve got more than enough time.” I said as she met my eyes again.

“I just don’t want to tell you too much,” she said shifting in the chair, “but, I suppose you need to know this. His name is Sherlock Holmes, he’s a-“

“Consulting Detective,” I raised an eyebrow as I finished her sentence, “I remember hearing about him a few years ago. The smart ass with a funny hat… I thought he jumped off a building.”

“He did, but he survived.” She shrugged, “John was the blogger that made him famous. They were, and still are, best friends but Sherlock lied to him about his death. John’s not going to forgive him so easily.”

“I’d imagine so.” I sighed, butting my lip as I look towards the window. The sky was a dull grey, the clouds stretched across the sky. “Four days… I’ve missed so much.”

“Don’t worry Freya,” she said reaching forward to take my hand again. “You’ll remember, I'm sure of it.”

“Is there nothing more you can tell me?” I asked, “A hint of a hint or something in between?”

She shook her head slowly, a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I’m so sorry, I-I just can’t.”

I nodded, my gaze falling to the soft pink blanket that covered me, “It-it’s okay,” I swallowed hard. “I thought it might be a long shot but I had to try.”

“Freya,” she whispered, squeezing my hand to draw my eyes back to her, “Don’t give up, you WILL remember; I know you will. The key to what was lost lies in the past.”

My eyes narrowed, “What are you talking about? Is a riddle supposed to make me feel better?”

“I just think that the best way to remember what was lost is to remember what lead to these events.” She said with earnest and encouraging smile. “Remember what brought you to Baker Street.”

“John brought me to Baker Street,” I said turning my head away to look out the window. “So what?”

“So how did you meet John?” she asked standing up from her chair and walking around to the foot of the bed. “Freya… how did your adventure begin?”

I slowly turned my head to look at her, my blue eyes meeting her grey-green one as I opened my mouth to answer her. “The same way any good adventure begins I suppose. I went to the clinic for a sprain in my hand and I guess all the characters were brought together.”

She inclined her head, “And they were?”

I blinked, “You know-”

“Tell me anyway.”

I paused a moment and turned my chin to the side, “The kind nurse, the broken doctor, and the girl with her nose in a book.”


	3. Pull Me from the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You and this flat… it’s like you belong in there. And I just have a feeling that you will live here for the rest of your life."

I stepped onto the Baker Street behind Mary. It was overwhelming. I could see street, the people and how they moved, but I also saw the ghosts that haunted it. Flashes, pictures of people as I they move through the street. Some of them I knew, but there was one in particular that I didn’t. Sherlock was standing near the door. John was inviting me in with the landlady of the flat behind him. Mary was running to the door her phone in her hand. Sherlock was getting into cab; a small girl with brown hair and a rainbow jumper followed him in. These ghosts, these images were happening all at once. They attacked; they bombarded me, my senses were consumed by their words and actions. All I could see was them all I could hear were their voices. I could only feel their touch and ice like it was creeping over my skin. I was freezing, I was fading.

“Freya,” Mary broke through the ghosts and touched my arm, bringing me back to the street. “Are you okay?”

I nodded slowly, my mouth felt dry as I spoke, “Ye-yes… it’s just a lot to take in.”

She smiled, her thumb gently running over my arm, “It’s familiar than?”

“More than I thought it would be,” I forced a smile as I tried not to see the ghosts still present on the pavement around me.

“Let’s do it like we talked about,” she said looking toward the flat. “When you first came to Baker Street how were you feeling?”

“Hopeful,” I told her. “I wanted out of my old flat. I always hated it there, you know that.”

She smiled and laughed, “I did, yeah.”

“I wanted this place to work out,” I turned back to the flat at hand, my eyes lifting up to the windows above us. Sherlock stood in one of them. His cold eyes were cast down as he watched Mary and I on the street. “So much so that I brought a bag of things so I could stay the night before moving in the next day. I really wanted out of that flat.”

I lowered my eyes to the door where Ghost-John stood saying something I couldn’t quite hear above the noise of the other images around me. It was like standing in a crowded room and trying to have a conversation with someone two meters away; incredibly frustrating. John was still talking, smiling under that ridiculous mustache he had. I never really head him since he grew that, most of the time I just watched it move up and down, up and down; like a caterpillar.

“Freya, I'm glad you made it,” John greeted me at the door.

“Me too,” I smiled as he hugged me, “this is already an improvement from where I live now.”

“Well come in, it only gets better.” He moved out of the way and I entered the flat. John was right, it did only get better. Dark wood features and light green wall paper made the landing seem homey. The land lady, Mrs. Hudson, stood next to the stair case. Sweet eyes and a kind smile greeted me as I stepped forward to shake her hand and introduce myself.

“Thank you for letting me come here today,” I said with a smile. “I know you haven’t had tenants since John moved out so I’m really, very grateful for this opportunity.”

“Oh it my pleasure, dear.” She nodded to the man beside us; “John said you were in a bad situation, I just want to help.”

“You are,” I spun around and beamed, “this looks amazing! It’s like something out of a mystery novel.”

John chuckled, “Just wait till you see the upstairs.”

“So how long have you and John known each other?” Mrs. Hudson asked as we ascended to what would be my flat.

“A few months,” I said. “I sprained my wrist at the library where I work. I was trying to put a book back and fell of the ladder like a clumsy fool. John patched me up, with Mary’s help of course. We all had a laugh and have been in touch ever since.”

“Oh that’s lovely,” She smiled.

We reached the top of the stairs. John was waiting by the closed door with an amused smile on his face. There was a pause and I looked between the two. Mrs. Hudson gave him a solid nod and he turned to me. Dark grey eyes filled with content, a sort of completeness or closer, as he tipped his head towards the door. “Go on,” he said, “It’s your flat now.”

I paused a moment, glancing from him to Mrs. Hudson and back again. “Really?” I asked and they both laughed, chuckling as they nodded. “Why?”

John looked at from me to her, his laugh sobering as he spoke, “This flat… it’s special, you know? After Sherlock…” he trailed off, gathering his thoughts, “After him not just anyone could live here. You, Freya, you’re not just anyone. You and this flat… it’s like you belong in there. And I just have a feeling that you will live here for the rest of your life. Now why don’t you go prove me right?”

The door opened and I wanted to cry, it was so perfect. Everything from the rug and the wallpaper, the books and the mirror, to the skull on the fire place made me want to squeal with joy. After years of searching I’d found it, a place where I could live and enjoy living. John was right. I would spend the rest of my life here.

“I told you she’d like it.” I heard him say to Mrs. Hudson behind me.

“It’s like a dream,” I whispered turning around. “I mean… just look at it.”

“Yep,” John glanced around. “It looks like a bloody mess.”

“Just like Sherlock kept it,” Mrs. Hudson smiled, looking about as well.

I turned around, “Sherlock was the tenant before, right?”

“He was my flat mate, yeah.”

I slid my hands into my back pockets, running my teeth across my bottom lip, “Y-you don’t talk about him… ever.”

He nodded slowly, dark eyes falling to the ground as he shrugged. “Sherlock was… my best friend… and I miss him immensely. For a long time after he died, I was stuck. Doing the same job, not talking to the same people, and not healing the scar he left behind. But over the last few months, meting Mary and you Freya, I’ve found some kind of peace in my life.” He looked up and smiled, “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

A smile crept across my lips as I clasped my hands together, “You’re purposing tonight, aren’t you?”

“What?” Mrs. Hudson looked from me to him. Shock and joy crossing her face and coloring voice as John smiled and nodded.

“Show me the ring,” I demanded.

“Hey- no, hang on,” he chuckled holding his palms up. “I’m picking it up from the shop tonight.”

“Diamond?”

“Yes.”

“Cut?”

“Round.”

“Just one? Or did you dig deep into your pocket book like Mary deserves?”

“There are three stones on the engagement ring,” he said with a smile, “Her wedding band will have more I'm sure.”

I giggled, “Thinking ahead, I like it.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, John, I'm so happy for you,” Mrs. Hudson said hugging him. “She’s a lucky girl.”

“No, Mrs. Hudson, I'm the lucky man,” he said patting her back, “That is, if she says yes, of course.”

“She will!” I said, my smile so wide I thought my face would crack, “You two are amazing together! She’d need a heart of ice-“ I froze. I was freezing. It was so cold and I was so alone in the dark. But there, in the back, was a whisper. Freya! Freya! Freya! I could hear them shouting, I could feel their touch. Someone was grabbing me, grabbing my arms.

Someone pulled me out of the dark.

“Freya!” Mary shouted as I opened my eyes. I tried to look around but the light was blinding and everything was moving so quickly. Someone was screaming, the high pitched shriek tearing through the flat and someone was struggling. Pushing and hitting and fighting against something or someone I couldn’t tell.

“Freya,” a deep voice commanded my attention and everything snapped into focus. I was the one screaming, my voice piercing the fog and I struggled against Mary who was attempting to restrain me. “Freya, you’re safe. You’re here, you’re safe.” He whispered as I fell back into his arms that wrapped around me like a blanket. He was warm and I was so cold, when we touched it was like fire and ice. Like the wind and the earth had stilled for a moment. Fire and ice, light and dark, dead and alive.

I looked up at him through half hooded eyes. He was beautiful, all dark curls, silver eyes, and cheekbones that could kill. It was those cheekbones that my hand sought out as I reached above my head to stroke his face. “You called my Dyre,” I whispered as my hand fell back to my side. “You’re not supposed to call me Dyre.” And then the world went dark.


	4. Worth the Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night was falling on London. Already the stars began to kiss the horizon; their pattern scared the cool blue of the east sky. And in the west? The sun painted the skyline with all shades of red and yellow like the world was on fire.

"Are you sure?" Mary and I were standing in the entry way of the Baker Street flat. She had her coat on and was wrapping her scarf around her neck; grey eyes were locked on me.

I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest, "Not really."

"You can stay with John and I," She said. Concern fell across her face and coated her voice as she reached forward to squeeze my arm gently. "We have more than enough room."

The corners of my lips twitched up as I placed my small, cold hand over hers, "I know you do. But…" I glanced over my shoulder at the ghosts that traveled the flat. One in particular caught my attention. It was Sherlock, walking down the stairs with the small brown haired girl behind him. He looked amused but there was something more in those silver eyes that walked past me and through Mary. "…I feel like I need to stay."

"I just-" she hesitated tilting her head to the side, "if you have another episode-"

"It's all part of getting my memories back, Mary." I said standing up straight and putting my hands on her shoulders. "I have to see them through, I have to relive them. You're the one who said remembering was important right?"

"You lost consciousness, Freya," she whispered. "If that happens again-"

"Sherlock is here," I said. "He seems to know what he's doing."

"'Seems' being the key word there."

"Go home," I chuckled. "I'll call you in the morning to prove I made it through the night."

She nodded slowly, "You're going to risk it then."

I gave her a small shrug, "I don't think I have much of a choice. I can hear them all happening, like a constant white noise. Whispers of things I can't quite hear or understand and… I want to understand. I desperately want to understand. Since I woke up from the hospital I've been walking around with the feeling that I'm forgetting something and it's driving me mad. I need to remember, Mary."

Her face remained passive for a moment before the corners of her lips twitched up into a content smile. But I saw something in her eyes. Just a flicker of something I couldn't identify before it was gone again and the light returned. "Okay. Okay you stay and remember, that's what this is all about after all, but you call me if you need anything."

She turned to leave and I walked out with her, "You keep saying that."

She glanced at me as she tried to flag down a cab, "Say what?"

"That's what this is all about," I quoted her. "What do you mean?"

She laughed, the taxi pulling up to the curb. "It's nothing, Freya. Now get inside before you catch a cold."

"I survived a freezer I don't think two minutes outside will kill me," I smirked, crossing my arms over my chest.

She shrugged, opening the cab door, "You never know."

I watched the taxi drive down the street before I turned back to my flat. Around me the ghosts still moved and talked. They demanded my attention as I turned my eyes up to the second floor. Once again Sherlock stood in the window watching me. His cold gaze drowned out the voices of the ghosts. I couldn't hear their whispers, I couldn't hear them or the city as it moved around me. It wasn't the same as the silence from the hospitable. There was no pain or confusion, only… peace. And then he turned away from the window. I braced myself for the ghosts to attack, for them to consume my senses and take over my mind.

But there was silence.

I walked into the living room of the flat to see him sitting in the grey leather chair with a book in his hands. He didn't say anything but turned the page. The floor groaned under my feet and I moved, pulling the long sleeves of my light blue t-shirt further down my cold hands. I stood in the center of the living room and turned my eyes back to the street. Night was falling on London. Already the stars began to kiss the horizon; their pattern scared the cool blue of the east sky. And in the west? The sun painted the skyline with all shades of red and yellow like the world was on fire.

"How do you know that name?"

He looked up from his book. A question whispered in the upward slant of his eyebrows but in his cold eyes I saw knowledge. He tried to hide it, to act like he didn't know but I could feel the information in him. I could feel the words running through his mind like they were being carved into my bones and written on my heart. Sherlock-

"Dyre," I clarified, rubbing a hand over my temple as I took a step forward. "How do you know that name?"

His mouth opened slightly but only a short breath came out as his eyes drifted away from me and to his book, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean-"

"In the hospitable," I pushed it and his eyes snapped back to me, "When I was just waking up, you called my Dyre. No one calls me that."

"One person does."

"That's my point," I crossed my arms over my chest. "There is only one person who knows me by that name."

He took a moment, those cold eyes washing over me as the book was closed and set aside. He stood up, sliding his hands into his pockets; a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "How do you think I know?"

"I-I must have told you," I said, stumbling on my words, suddenly feeling less than confident.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his fine features, "But?"

"But why did I tell you?" I asked rubbing my arm and taking another step forward, "Why would I do that?"

"Because…" The right corner of his lips twitched up, two easy strides closed the distance between us and one smooth hand came out of his pocket. He raised those long fingers to my face and trailed their warmth from ear to chin. His touch burned my cold skin as he raised my face up towards his. My heart hurt, it was beating so fast in my chest. I thought it might give out; it nearly did as his breath spilled across my face like a fog creeping over the city. "…You asked me to find him." he smirked at my blush as he pushed past me to the hall. "I suggest you finish remembering those last few days Miss. Freya Crawford. Not just any man in a nice suit, with a basic understanding of Scandinavian pet names, is the man you've been writing to."

I glared at him, "You really are an arse Sherlock Holmes."

He smirked at me, his eyebrows twitching up before he turned and wandered back to, what I assumed to be, his room. I watched him close the door, my face still flushed with embarrassment. That man was hiding something, I could feel it, but he also had a good point. He wasn't the man I'd been writing to and I needed to remember.

I turned my eyes back to the flat and watched the ghosts for a moment, Mary's voice echoing in my mind. "Take it slow and walk it through. Let the memory take hold of you. Once you remember you can move on. You'll be free." I sat down in Sherlock's dark grey chair and picked up the book he'd set aside. I opened to the second chapter, fifth page in, half way down the second paragraph. The male protagonist was just being introduced and when he spoke a deep voice filled my head.

I felt myself fall into the story. The world around me evaporated away as my eyes wandered down the page. This book was good. I'd read it countless times before but it still managed to draw me in like I was reading it for the first time. Part of my brain noted that there was a noise down the stairs; it was entirely possible that someone was screaming. I didn't move from my seat as my eyes slid down the page, devouring the story.

I heard the creak of the door but again, my mind didn't register it. The main character was meeting her future significant other and their relationship was one that I adored! They were strong characters individually but together they were a force to be reckoned with. If only they didn't manage to push each other's buttons every time they were in the same room.

"What is this?" a voice spoke as my eyes traced the first words this man ever said to his future wife. The voice in the door way altering the tone and depth of the voice I'd always imagined before this moment. It made me smile, a deeper voice worked for this character. It commanded respect.

I think there was more conversation in the room but I was too intrigued with the voice the character now possessed. It was like I was reading the story for the first time. A smooth, satin voice echoing in my ears as I read.

A smiled crept across my lips, "Wow."

"Wow indeed."

My head shoot up to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the threshold with a man. He was so dark; a long dark coat over a dark suit and deep purple button down shirt. Dark brown, nearly black, curly hair framed a pale angular face. That face, it was like the moon in the dark sky. If only the moon should have a jaw as sharp and cheek bones so pronounced maybe it would be half as lovely as this man. Admittedly it wasn't any typical kind of beauty like that of so many hollow minded celebrities these days. There was more to this man; I could almost feel the layers of his character as he stood there in the doorway. So much depth and complexity, he took my breath away.

Silver eyes were locked on me as I slowly closed the book and pulled my legs out from under me to put my feet flat on the floor. He didn't like me being here, that was obvious. It took me back a step as I felt the intensity of his glare increase. What had I done to deserve such a look? I was just sitting there reading…

"Freya, this is Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said and my eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I thought you said he died."

Sherlock spoke, "I did. Now I'm back and you can be on your way."

My eyes narrowed again, this time in irritants, "Actually, last I checked, dead men couldn't live in a flat that they were only renting to begin with."

His eyebrows twitched up, "Good thing I'm not a dead man."

"No but you're working very hard to get there, aren't you?"

"Now I'm sure we can all live here-"

"No." Sherlock said stepping aside and offering me a 'get-out' gesture. My response? I squared my shoulders, grabbed my book, and marched through the kitchen and down the hall to the room I'd been planning to sleep in.

I could hear talking in the other room and let out a frustrated sigh as I fell back on the bed. This complicated things. Sherlock was alive and not happy that someone else had invaded his space. I didn't want to give this flat up, I wouldn't give it up. I also had a feeling that Sherlock would be just as stubborn about it. What to do then? Live together? My nose wrinkled at the thought but what else could be done? It would be difficult, but this flat was something special. I'd be damned before I let go.

My body froze as my mind snapped back to the present. The whispers returned and flooded my ears but now they screamed at me. I tried to cover my ears- hell I tried to move at all! My body was stiff; I could barely lift a finger. I tried to scream but no sound came out, or if it did then I couldn't hear it. I felt the panic rising as my heart beat went crazy. Each pump of my heart echoed in my throat and against my rib caged. I couldn't breathe, my chest felt tight like my lungs refused to expand. The world was spinning and I was helpless to do anything. I was in pain, I was scared, and I felt so alone; like there was no one who could help me. I was falling into a black hole, descending into absolute fear with nothing to pull me back. Did I even want to be pulled back?

And then the screaming stopped. My heart beat slowed down and I could breathe again. The empty, hollow, and alone feeling that had filled me to the brink of tears was just gone. I wasn't alone. I was never alone.

Drowsiness fell over me like a fog and I gave into sleep. Allowing my body to drift off to the soft comfort of quiet and calm. And just as I tipped over the edge to unconsciousness I felt a warm hand leave mine.


	5. Venom In the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t inflate your own importance and certainly don’t expect me to.

When I woke up the flat was quiet. The sun was just barely above the horizon as its light trickled through the window. I blinked as I looked around, the room I slept in still new to me. It was a fair sized room, though it felt small thanks to the great mass of things that had been stuffed into it. I wondered for a moment if it had been Sherlock’s room but then sighed at the thought. Of course it was Sherlock’s room. John would have taken all his things when he moved out and there was already a sizable storage room the floor below that Mrs. Hudson used to put her things into.

“His room,” I muttered as I stood up. “Another thing I took from him.” But it wasn’t really my fault, was it? I didn’t know he faked his death and would be coming back. I didn’t know…. I shook my head as I approached the window. No, that was wrong. I didn’t know all those things, obviously. I couldn’t have. But that didn’t matter, this was no one fault and there was no one to blame.

I walked into the kitchen and put the pot on for tea before I heard something coming from the living room. It was faint, the slow, gentle, sound of someone breathing. Peaking around the corner I saw Sherlock curled up on the couch. He looked so small, which was really quite amazing for someone of his height, so small and so vulnerable. Almost like a child who stayed up too late trying to catch Santa.

“You’ll only catch a cold like this…” I sighed heavily as I reached for one of my throw blankets. It was a good thing I thought to grab them from my old flat when I was moving some of my things the day before. I draped the warm fabric across his body noting the way it seemed to relax from his tense position. “You really can’t take care of yourself, can you?” I whispered with a small smile flickering across my face as I remembered John’s stories. Sherlock Holmes, the genius detective who faked his death and fooled millions, could he even make food for himself?

“Probably not,” I murmured, a chuckle escaping my lips as I sat on the floor in front of the couch. I leaned against the cushion, pulling my knees up to my chest as I looked around the flat. “You are probably the world’s tallest child but… you’re important to John, so I suppose I can forgive you for being a tad territorial. After all… I can understand why.”

This flat, I thought as my eyes fallowed the flow of the room, it was more than just a place to live; it was a think tank. Sherlock had put everything in such a way as to stimulate his mind so he could solve problems that would leave the rest of us baffled. I could see that now, and I could see how my few things that I had brought over disrupted his process. Even the throw blankest, which proved to be useful, were an obstruction in the current. A rock in a shallow stream.

Sherlock wasn’t going to leave, that much was obvious. So if I really wanted to stay, and god did I want to stay, then I needed to find a way to remove the rock. “I suppose the blankest can be tucked under the couch. My pictures can be hung in my room- oh, the room….” I trailed off thinking about the bedroom. A lot of my things were already unpacked in there- but that didn’t matter, I told myself. Coexisting means compromising.

“You’ll probably hate whatever I change,” I sighed, looking down at my knees, “John told me about how stubborn you could be. But you’ll just have to make do; if I'm changing to accommodate you then you can change for me. That’s how being a flat mate works and… I think we can figure this out.”

“Oh you do, do you?” his deep voice made me jump as I turned to see him looking at me.

“Oh- you’re awake,” I blushed, not moving from my place on the floor in front of him. “Good morning.”

His silver eyes didn’t leave mine, “Is it?”

“Not really,” I shrugged, “The news called for rain.”

His chin tipped up, “Ah.”

“I work this morning,” I said turning my gaze back to the room around us, “Would you like breakfast before I go?”

“I never eat while I work,” he said simply. “Digestion slows me down.”

“Ah.”

“Where do you work?”

“You don’t know?”

“The London Library at Saint James Square,” he rattled off the information like it was nothing and I glanced over my shoulder at him in shock, “I was only asking to be polite. I deduced most of your basic information last night. The rest I found out from Mrs. Hudson. She does love to gossip.”

“Okay…” I trailed off, turning around to face him on the couch, “what do you know?”

And eyebrow twitched up as he, slowly, shifted into a sitting position. “You’re name is Freya Crawford. Twenty five years old, a hundred and sixty five centimeter tall, a hundred and forty pounds heavy. You work for the London Library because of deep passion for you possess for literature, not the most useless hobby I’ve heard of but still a waste of time considering the types of novels you choose to pick up. You’re previous living situation was as Mrs. Hudson put it ‘bloody awful’ and you’ve been looking for a new residence for the better part of two months.”

I blinked at him, unsure of what to say except, “You’re right, about almost everything.”

His left eye twitched, “Almost?”

“Literature is not a waste of time.”

“Flights of fancy, such as you read, are,” he said with a challenging look.

I laughed, “Clearly you don’t understand the value of a good story.”

He rolled his eyes but it was different now. Before he regarded me only coldly and his words now still reflected that hostility but it didn’t feel that way. It didn’t feel like last night when he demanded I leave simply because he didn’t want me here. This felt… familiar? Like I’d, had this conversation before…

“Okay,” I smiled, waving away those thoughts as I refocused on the man in front of me, “what else?”

His gaze turned questioning, “Pardon?”

“What more do you know about me?”

His confusion remained, “More? There’s more?”

My smile faltered, “Well… Yeah, of course there is. I’m not saying what you said wasn’t impressive, it was, but it’s also all things a stranger I spent five minutes talking to on the tube could figure out. I don’t know I guess I was just kind of expecting something… more. You’re Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you? Say something that will blow me away.”

He was quiet for a moment, the narrow angle in his eyes shifting from puzzlement to something much more… deterring. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood, Miss. Crawford.”

“Misunderstood?”

“Yes,” he stood up and I did too. “I deduce only the most important information and if I have inferred nothing more of you it is because there is nothing else of interest to uncover. You are insignificant, unimportant. A nameless background character of whom no one thinks about because there is nothing to know. Don’t inflate your own importance and certainly don’t expect me to.”

The room grew cold around me as he spoke. His words piercing through me like a knife as his silver eyes stared me down. I don’t know how long we stood like that. The two of us, less than a foot apart, in our pajamas, our gaze locked as his venom hung in the air. I wanted to say something, anything to erase the echoing sound of his voice in my ears but the words wouldn’t come.

So I walked away from him. I left Sherlock and his cruel words behind as I went back to the room where I had slept and closed the door. I slowly sank down onto the bed, letting out a long breath as I did. He didn’t mean it, I thought to myself. John said he started insulting people when he got frustrated and I knew I would be picked apart the moment he stepped foot back in this flat. So why was I so surprised by his outburst? Why did I feel like someone had taken hold of my heart and was squeezing it- freezing it until it stopped-

I woke up with a jump, my hand flying to my heart in an attempt to check my pulse.

“Freya?” I turned to see Sherlock sitting in a lounge chair in the corner of his bedroom. He face betrayed no emotion as he watched me carefully, closing the book in his hand. “You had a nightmare.”

It wasn’t a question but I answered him anyway, “Something like that.” I murmured turning on the bed so my feet were resting firmly on the floor. My hand fell into my lap as I turned a cautious glance his way, “How long have you been there?”

“Mary requested I stay close,” he said simply, “in case you went into another one of your fits.”

I flinched, “Right.”

He cocked his head to the side, “You’re wary of me, why?”

“It’s nothing,” I waved off his question as I stood up and reached for the door, “Are you hungry? I'm famish-” the handle slipped from my grasp as the door was slammed back shut in front of me. Long piano fingers against the pail paint of the wood were all I could see. All I could feel was the warmth that radiated from his body and the little hairs on the back of my neck stir with his every breath.

“Freya,” his voice was deep and smooth, like silk being draped across my shoulders. “Look at me.”

My voice caught in my throat as I stood, frozen, between him and the door.

“Freya,” he spoke again, his voice growing more annoyed.

I can’t, I thought squeezing my eyes shut.

“Freya.”

Just let me go.

“Dyre-” my head shot up as something inside me snapped back into place and I fell back against the warm body behind me. Strong arms wrapped around my limp form, protecting me from the fall as he lifted me effortlessly into the air. Don’t let go, I heard someone murmur. Their voice was so soft, like a whisper from far away- below… from far below. And I was rising, my fingers slipping from the satin they clung to. Don’t let go, Dyre. Don’t.

I can’t hold on, I thought- tears falling down my cheeks. It hurts too much- I'm not strong enough.

Dyre!

I'm so sorry…

No! Help her-

“Freya?!” I heard Mary’s panicked voice echo in the room as I felt my body being set down on the soft bed. “What happened?”

“How should I know?” Sherlock’s strained voice growled above me. “I’m not the one with a medical license.”

“You were supposed to watch her,” she hissed as fingers probe my neck and an intense wave of exhaustion washed over my body. “This is not how it was supposed to go!”

“I’m doing my best but the girl is slipping,” he mumbled as the edges of my consciousness grew fuzzy and I began to slip into a deep sleep. “A little help would be appreciated.”

“I’ll stabilize her for now but she cannot take much more of this and you know it,” she hissed, but from far away now. Her voice vanishing into the background. “You’re taking too long; a decision needs to be made. Soon.”

“I am aware,” he responded, a hand running softly through my hair as everything faded too black, “But she has to remember first…


End file.
